Shoes
by papiersam
Summary: Marinette gets three things: a position at the Agreste shoe store managed by Chloe Bourgeois, a sudden adoration for coworker Adrien Agreste, and a headache courtesy of saving Paris alongside two hopeless heroes. AU, of the slice-of-life variety.


_| Prologue: Always |_

* * *

Marinette screamed, frightening a nearby flock of birds into flight.

And for a breathless moment, she watched them scatter to the winds.

Then, unmuting the mic and pulling the phone back to her ear, she calmly said, "I would like to thank you for selecting me, and I hope to work with your team soon."

" _As do we_ ," came the reply from the other end. " _After we clear the background check, we will contact you with your timings for your first shifts, and the training to be expected therein_."

"Absolutely. Thank you - " Marinette said, but faltered a bit when she caught herself repeating. " – again, for the opportunity. I won't disappoint you – the team."

If the lady noticed Marinette's nervous stutter, she didn't mention it. " _Of course. We will be in touch, Madame Dupain-Cheng. Until then_."

"Bye," Marinette said, waving, then hitting herself in the face lightly when she realised it. "Thank you."

The line died with a ring. Marinette stood there, feeling giddy excitement bubble inside her. She began to pace the park's path, calling the only person in the world who would be happier for herself than she was.

" _Hello?_ " Alya's voice answered after only one ring.

Marinette could always, _always_ count on Alya to be exactly what she needed when she needed it. This time was no exception.

"I got the job," Marinette said in a rush.

She barely finished before Alya screamed a shrill scream that put Marinette's to shame.

From there, the electrified conversation continued until Marinette walked the beaten path home, but she smiled all the while.

* * *

"But what if I _do_ mess up? What if they think I don't know enough about shoes and they _fire me_ before I even – "

"No, Marinette," Tikki said with the patience of a thousand years – or ten thousand, about. "You know shoes, and I know you. You'll do _great_!"

Marinette peered down into her small purse with a wry half-smile, mostly convinced. "I hope you're right."

As Tikki wished her good luck again and Marinette clicked the purse shut, she supposed Tikki had a habit of being right. Probably something you learned at around five-thousand and two.

With a deep breath to try and compose herself, Marinette pushed the door – then fumbled, realising it opened outwards, and pulled it to allow her entry into the shoe store.

The first thing Marinette noticed – the first thing she _always_ noticed when she entered _La Fête_ _Ferrer_ – was the clean scent that every Agreste product packaging carried. Promise of sleek perfection, of sophistication, in a whiff.

Marinette, it seemed, had a particular love for the Agreste commercial name.

Most of Paris did, if the posters bearing the name at each turn of the street corner was any indication. Something about Gabriel Agreste, his style – including his mysterious disappearance into the shadows of privacy – just _captivated_ Paris.

Just like the heels on display for $49.99 captivated Marinette.

" _Whoa_ ," Marinette breathed, picking it up and examining it with awe.

It wasn't just about the Agreste name to Marinette: it was the fashion integrity that stood out. It was like she and Gabriel shared a pool of artistic inspirations, and everything he came up with further spurred Marinette down the designing career path.

"Absolutely _stunning_ , isn't it?"

Marinette snapped out of her brown study so abruptly, she dropped the shoe. Already bending down to pick it up, Marinette sputtered, "Oh, I'm so sorry! I was just looking and – "

"Oh, don't worry about it," the lady said. "Anyway, it needs to be on the floor first before you can try it on, right?"

As Marinette heard this, the shoe was clasped tightly in her hands. She dropped it, quickly, hesitated – "Right, right – wait, but – " – then sprung back down and picked it up again. "No, I'm not trying it on. I'm not here to shop."

"Oh," said the lady in a flat tone, a stranger to the chipper enthusiasm she had before. "Then what are you even doing here?"

Marinette straightened up, holding the heel close to herself. She tried to smile at the lady – blonde ponytail, shadowed eyes, _sharp_ features with a fashion sense to match – and said, "I – I'm here to work. I mean, I'm Marinette."

Marinette held out her hand, dropping the shoe, and started to go down for it again but thought better of it. Hand still outstretched, she added, "Marinette Dupain-Cheng. The new associate?"

The lady eyed Marinette's hand with the sort of stare given to someone who made a bad pun. Then: "Ah, head office told me about you. Madame Marinette."

"Yes. Me – I. Marinette."

Her gaze lingered for a moment longer before she raised her own, over her shoulder. "Well then! We should get to work – looks like we have a _lot_ to do."

"What?"

"Follow me, Dupain-Cheng."

With that, the lady strutted – a swaying strut on Agreste-brand stilettoes – down the aisle that was lined with an assortment of Women's shoes separated by size.

Marinette started after, stopped, looked back at the shoe abandoned on the floor, and swiftly placed it back on the display – in two attempts, because it fell once – and quickly followed the blonde into a backroom behind a door that read 'Employees Only'.

The lady – whom Marinette slightly envied for having such poise while standing in four inch heels – was already talking, and talking fast, by the time Marinette was inside.

" – which is why today I'm just going to have you fill out these forms today. When you come in on Tuesday, we can start your training."

More paperwork was the last thing Marinette wanted to do right now, but given it was all she managed to hear and her _stellar_ start already, she nodded enthusiastically anyway. "Of course!"

"Good." The lady placed a short stack of a dozen papers on a desk that was mostly taken up by a semi-outdated computer and various office supplies. "Once you're done, you can come out and observe. Any questions?"

Marinette wanted to ask for a do-over, because nervousness was a terrible, unfunny foe that tripped her up at every turn, and she _really_ wanted to prove to – _whoever_ this was – that she really was a hard-working girl intent on making the most of this opportunity.

Instead, she said, "Oh – oh no, I understand. All clear! Hahah."

The lady nodded curtly, and headed out the door. "I'll be out front if you need anything," she called behind her before she slid out.

Effectively alone, Marinette dropped into the chair, holding her head in her hands and groaning.

First _minutes_ of her teenager dream-job, and she already messed up.

Still, she was _here_ , wasn't she? And the head office of the largest proprietary in Paris really wouldn't hire her if they didn't think she was _somehow_ capable, after three interviews.

So Marinette picked up the pen with vigor, and filled out the paperwork with laser-focus.

She was _here_ , and here she would stay.

Well, not in the back room, per se.

* * *

Chloe Bourgeois. Manager. Rightly so, Marinette had observed, after watching the lady single-handedly – if a little tersely – run the store for three hours until Sunday afternoon gave way to evening and Marinette's departure.

Sunday evening found Marinette atop the Eiffel Tower, tying her yoyo slingshot-style to the posts.

Of course, it wasn't Marinette so much as it was Ladybug, Savior of Paris.

"Time to put pen to paper, Le Écrivain!" Ladybug shouted, setting the massive water balloon – her Lucky Charm – in the seat of her slingshot. She tugged as far back as her yo-yo could sustain, and catapulted the balloon across the sky.

It careened in an arc, falling squat on the floating journalist with a loud, squishy _plop_ , and drenched him.

He snarled, lifted his pen and notepad, but horrifically found the pen only ripped through the soggy paper. " _What_?"

Ladybug wasted no time. "Chat Noir, now!"

"You've just been _written out_!" came a holler, followed closely by a sleek, black-clad Chat Noir, soaring at Le Écrivain with energised claws outstretched.

Before Le Écrivain could so much as turn, Chat's Cataclysm cut through the notepad like papier-mâché, and it dissolved into rusty black dust.

He managed a strangled cry of defeat before the dark aura engulfed him, and then released him as a normal citizen.

Right in the middle of the sky.

"No!" Ladybug shouted. She was nimble with her weapon, but untangling her yo-yo and leaping tens of meters across the sky still took longer than gravity did.

Chat, safely on his feet on ground, crouched. "I got him!"

"No," came the shout from somewhere leftwards, " _I_ got him!"

Except that Chat had already launched into the sky, so all he got was a facefull of Queen Bee's yo-yo.

"Meow-ch!" he yelped as he fell back to the ground.

Ladybug watched in horror as the journalist plummeted, fast, _faster_ – into a springing Queen Bee, who squeaked, grabbed him, and fell backwards onto Chat as he staggered to his feet.

By the time Ladybug reached them – which took seconds, even if they went on for _hours_ – Queen Bee was already pushing the journalist of her, disgruntled.

"Eww, you _smell_. It's _eau-de-toilette_ , not odor-toilet, you buffoon." Now standing up, Queen Bee snarled at the stunned but otherwise not-flattened citizen. "The only thanks I need from you is a promise of _better hygiene_."

Apparently at least grateful for being in one piece, the journalist nodded and scampered off, thanking Chat and Ladybug as he ran.

"Are you gonna get off me now?" Chat asked from under Queen's heels.

 _Humph_ ing, Queen Bee delicately lifted her leg. "Another day saved by moi, wouldn't you say?"

That's not what Ladybug was going to say; rather, Ladybug had the full intention of scolding the two for lack of communication in the heat of the battle.

All that came out, though, was a frustrated huff of breath as Ladybug pinched the bridge of her nose, just as Chat began to _communicate_ his argument with Queen Bee.

It wasn't anything new – sometimes, it felt like it was always like this, and only ever like this – but Ladybug was less and less inclined to find a way to remedy the situation by the day.

Or night, as she was now remembering. She – Marinette – had work in the morning, and she wasn't about to let it go as badly as it had today, or end as hazardously as tonight had.

"M'lady likes me more, anyway!"

"As if! Ladybug and I are _B._!"

She would figure this out soon, Ladybug promised herself. She had to, for Paris, and for her sanity.

No. Paris _always_ came first. Marinette may need sleep and pocket money and better overall luck, but Paris needed Ladybug, and Ladybug needed to protect it.

That part would always be clear, and no amount of Marinette's awkwardness or clumsiness could shake Ladybug's unwavering determination.

With the argument escalating to who Ladybug would rather have dinner with, Ladybug herself decided it time to break up the fight before one of _them_ got Akumatized.

Or worse, both.

Maybe worse for Le Papillon, if he expected them to work together.

Papillon, right.

All the fighting, and the fighting after that, almost made Ladybug forget to free the butterfly. She really _was_ losing her sanity.

"Worse than paperwork," Ladybug muttered before getting down to business.

She had a long path ahead of her. Marinette and Ladybug both.

* * *

 _A/N: and here we go, into the world of part-time jobs at shoe stores for a full-time hero. A brief prologue, just to set the scene._

 _Expect bad puns that probably translated even worse, comedic drama (while still being slice-of-life?), and a constant tug-of-war between Chat and Queen over who gets to have dinner with Ladybug - and Adrien hasn't even made an entrance yet._


End file.
